Today's the big day. I leave in half an hour, and I am frantically trying to cram my MD player with as many albums as I can for the 27 hour long flight. My reading of choice is Salinger's Nine Stories and A Curious Incident of A Dog In The Night, recommended by Fisher , though I think I thoroughly mangled the title. Considering that you have to arrive 3 hours ahead of time for international flights, I have a feeling I'll be done with all my reading before I even get on the plane.
I don't have any sense of anticipation or excitement. Strange. It feels like just something else I have to do. I think med school applications are weighing heavily on my mind, as well as the prospect of returning to my thesis, which I'll have to write in one month. It feels like going to camp by yourself, where you know you ought to be excited but instead you're just apprehensive. And whereas you kinda like the feeling of independence and going on your own, another part of you wishes your friend were coming.
I've been feeling non-verbose lately. Maybe my journey to Africa will re-inspire me.
